


Swimming Lessons

by ashkatom



Series: FBaTNverse [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dualscar decides that he is not going to stand for a troll Jegus that can’t swim. Sufferer complains a lot. They share a Moment, then Suf complains some more. Features lots of swearing, one instance of telling the laws of physics to perform a biologically unlikely act, and infinite instances of Sufferer drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swimming Lessons

“This is fuckin’ reprehensible,” Dualscar announces, despite the fact that you are _right there_ and there is absolutely no need for a volume level above ‘statement.’ “I don’t care if you’re the saviour a’ all trollkind, come down ta preach ta us of peace, I am naut followin’ a guy who can’t even swim.”

“I can swim,” you grumble.

“No,” he says, and jabs his finger into the table. “I thought you were just bein’ a seadiot, but all you do is flail around, an’ that? Is naut swimmin’.”

“Pardon me for being too busy trying to save trollkind,” you bite out, and wish you were back in the habit of wearing your cloak. He has no concept of what you had to give up, just by order of your blood colour. You’ve never been in a gathering of more than twenty, you’ve never been in public as yourself when you weren’t preaching, and you certainly weren’t able to go take a day at the beach. Public swimming facilities? Not for you! Your version of fun was setting up shop in some new wasteheap with Rosa, Psi and Disciple and hoping that this time, _this time_ , you wouldn’t be chased out by a squad of subjuggulators. 

“I fin you’d like it,” he says. “You spend too much time in your coddamn head, guppy.”

\--

He shoves you in. You end up with a lungful of seawater, a cloakful of seawater, eyes full of seawater, hair- okay, you get the picture, you are approximately 105% seawater and 89% certain that you hate Orphaner Dualscar. He is dangerously in the orange zone of the rageometer and rising fast.

You struggle to the surface and, in the only act of petty revenge you have left, splash his fucking smarmy dry ass.

He shrieks.

That is not what you expected of a seadweller.

“Fuckin’ _shell_ , Surf, do you efin know how hard it is ta get salt stains out?”

It’s, well, exactly what you expected of Orphaner Dualscar. You flail your way over to the nearest outcropping and cling to it for dear life while your lungs attempt to file for vacation time. “I imagine I’ll find out, since you shoved me in here without so much as a warning,” you say, once you’ve wheezed your way back into being able to talk. “Are you trying to murder me or is this part of the learning to swim experience?”

Dualscar unpins his cape - there is a difference between capes and cloaks, the latter is a functional garment while the former is for overdramatic fuckwits with a purple streak in their hair, _not that you are naming names_ \- and places it aside carefully before pulling off his shirt and shucking off his pants.

“Um,” you croak.

Dualscar slides into the water and somehow just floats there, his eyes closing as he breathes the gill version of a sigh of relief. Okay, the shirt you understand, but the pants? He could have left the pants on. And certainly not just because you died in your sexual prime and haven’t been laid in quite a long time and _why could he have not kept his pants on this is not helping._

“I’m naut able ta swim that whale with the cape on,” he points out helpfully as he drifts over with no apparent effort.

“This rock is my moirail,” you inform him. “I am never leaving its side. It is holding me steady and letting me not dro- _FUCK GIVE ME BACK THE ROCK,”_ you wail as he drags you away. You breathe in more water, cough it back up, and strongly consider biting Dualscar to make a break for your rockrail.

“Lean back,” Dualscar says, as if you’re not drowning quickly enough. You’ve lost your sanity at some point in the proceedings, because you do what he says without thinking, then start flailing wildly once you realise that you are leaning on water and it is not your friend, not in the slightest, it may actually be your kismesis oh hey you’re floating _suck it laws of physics_. “There,” he says, eminently satisfied with his failed assassination attempt. “Now stay like that an’ try naut ta tip over, I’m goin’ ta do a few laps.”

He takes his hands away from your back, where you hadn’t even realised they were, and disappears with barely a ripple in the water. “Dualscar?” you squeak, suddenly deathly afraid and wishing for your rockrail. You can’t even try to look for your stupid self-serving swimming instructor because then you will end up face-down in the water and legislacerators will start making shitty puns after thirty seconds of theme music.

You are essentially stuck here. This is not what you wanted out of your afterlife.

\--

It takes thirty minutes - you _counted_ \- for Dualscar to stop pretending he’s a toothbeast and come rescue you from the horrors of contemplating the ceiling.

“Did you know,” you ask him, “that there is a vein of something sparkly up there?”

“Huh.” Dualscar tilts his head up and squints, treading water easily. “I fin it’s just quartz.” 

“I hate this,” you say, in the same casual tone. “I have been looking at this quartz for the past half hour. I could pick it out of a quartz lineup. I am no further in a) learning how to swim, or b) getting ‘out of my head,’ and I want a shower and my cloak.”

Dualscar sighs and rests his hands on your shoulders. He didn’t bother taking any of his rings off, and they’re cool points against the chill of your skin. “First time I ever went on land, I wrapped myshellf in a wet cape an’ refused ta go anywhere without my lusus. I hated it, Surf. It was fuckin’ weird an’ breathin’ was hard an’ everyfin was heavier than it shoaled a’ been.”

“Your point?” you ask. He is entirely too close to you - you can see his eyes for the purple they are, rather than lidded darkness, and you haven’t had anyone close to you without wearing contact lenses who wasn’t part of your family first. It is setting off alarm bells in your head, but you’re already dead and making a good start on death #2: the drowning edition, so you figure you don’t have much to lose.

“My point,” he says, and shoves your shoulders down briefly, “is that wwe’re adaptable fuckin’ bein’s an’ if I can be a landweller then you can learn ta swim.” He leans down suddenly and whoa, his lips are on your forehead, you did not sign up for this, you are pretty sure that you are blushing hard enough to boil water and- he stops. “C’mon, hopeless, Isle teach you the basic forward stroke.”

“I fail to see how this is ‘getting me out of my head,’ you grumble, and grab his shoulders to make sure that you don’t drown as you try to tread water. It is a moderate success.

Dualscar undermines your success by grinning at you and grabbing your waist. “That comes later,” he says, then dunks you. 

You hope his seduction methods are better than his teaching ones.


End file.
